


December to Remember

by canox



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Car Sales, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, Cock Warming, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Humiliation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spit Kink, YOLO, ben calls rey a slut, but only after she asks him to, some fluff at the end, that I'm posting in January, thigh humping, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canox/pseuds/canox
Summary: Rey sells a sports car to a jerk in a suit. But he’s hot, and she’s lonely. So when she delivers the car on Christmas morning, she’s the one wearing the big red bow.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 32
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Literally inspired by a single line in [The 2020 Hater’s Guide to the Williams-Sonoma Catalog](https://defector.com/the-2020-haters-guide-to-the-williams-sonoma-catalog/) that mentions the December to Remember car sales.

_Snap, 33. Lots of hobbies; looking for someone to do all these fun things with me!_ Left. That was code for “stop doing activities that don’t involve me.”

_Doph, 25. Home from grad school until Jan. 15._ Maybe right if she came back from her post-Christmas beach vacation—it was way cheaper right after the holidays, even though the sun was just as bright—and still felt lonely.

_Armitage, 30. A man of very particular tastes._ Why not write straight out that you didn’t eat—

“Can you take this guy?”

Rey jumped and accidentally swiped right on Armitage. Fuck. Why couldn’t Poe leave her in peace while she was on what she had privately deemed Operation Cock for Christmas? 

“What?” she snapped.

He raised his eyebrows, directing her out the break-room window toward the man walking across the dealership parking lot. Poe had seen the guy first, which, according to their agreement dated November twenty-second of the previous year, the day Rey had been promoted from the front desk to sales, meant he had dibs on the customer.

Client, Rey always had to remind herself. They weren’t customers, they were clients. Other stores sold the cars that got ordinary people from A to B. At Forsche, they dealt in lifestyles. Mostly a fantasy one where middle-aged men could drive like it was a race to get to soccer practice or make the exhaust emit loud fart sounds up and down their cul-de-sacs and thereby regain their youth.

“He looks like someone filled his stocking with coal,” Poe said, helpfully.

Most clients sauntered into the dealership. They were about to reward themselves for being lucky in life, and they liked to survey the cars, really savor the moment they went from being so-and-so, executive vice president of strategic operations, to a man who drove a Forsche. Even if it was the SUV, which was essentially a minivan with a Forsche badge on the hood.

This one had his hands fisted in his pockets and his head thrust forward, like he was fighting a strong breeze with every step, soldiering into a task he didn’t want to do.

“And?” Rey asked. Cranky clients never troubled Poe. A few jokes on the test drive, a few cheeky grins while they went over numbers, and pretty soon the client was walking out of his cubicle like they’d met Jesus.

“And I have a date in two hours, okay?” he admitted. There it was. They also had an agreement, dated February seventh of the same year, that if they ever matched on the apps again, they would simply swipe left and proceed as though it had never happened.

“What about your family stuff this week?” If she had a family to spend Christmas with, she wouldn’t be on Tinder. She’d be up to her elbows in cookie icing, maxing out her credit card on presents. Amilyn, their boss, already had her working on Christmas Eve and the twenty-sixth because she assumed Rey, orphaned and single and childless, had nothing better to do.

“Duh. Between _my_ Secret Santa and baking night and _her_ Yankee swap, tonight was the _only_ night we could—”

The clanging of the front-desk bell interrupted Poe’s rundown of his holiday schedule. Their receptionist must have stepped away or gone home; there was only a half-hour until closing. Poe gave Rey his widest eyes and most knowing smile, like he was only asking because he was confident she was the woman for the job.

“All right, I’ll go,” she said with a huff, and stomped out.

*

Up close, the client’s face was a mask of impatience, rigid and imposing. He stood smashing the bell in the same cadence, not even turning to see her marching across the showroom floor, until she snatched it from beneath his hand, introduced herself, and asked, tartly, what she could help with.

He wanted their new Silencer sports car, and he wanted it yesterday, he told her with a flat set to his lips—probably just reddened from the chilly walk across the parking lot—and a hurried edge to his deep voice. Price was no object; if they had it in black with leather seats, he’d sign right away.

Did she imagine his eyes flicking over her body when she suggested a test drive first? 

Probably not. Most buyers expected a salesperson who could have tapped the keg alongside them at a Psi U party in the golden age of twenty years ago, and they almost never bothered to hide their excitement at finding instead a younger woman in high-waisted trousers and silk blouses. A few gentle questions about how they met their spouses or how their grandkids were doing, though, and their interest changed to near-fatherly pride when she popped the hood and showed them around the engine, where her interests really lay.

This time, though, she wasn’t sure she wanted the interest to downshift into parental. The client’s gaze assessed her; his bitter-tea eyes intrigued her.

“It’s a good idea,” he said, handing over his driver’s license when she asked. Some clients tried to test drive without actually knowing how to drive. “To make sure I fit.”

Rey glanced at his ID while making a photocopy. “If it’s too tight, Ben,” she said lightly, “there’s no point in buying the car.”

She was mostly serious, though. Better to spend half an hour on a test drive with his important-man-in-a-hurry act now, even if it was almost time to close, than hours on paperwork later, explaining to Amilyn that her client needed to return the car because he was too tall and too broad to drive it.

*

His eyes were definitely on her, not the car, when she bent over to secure the temporary license plate and close the trunk with the press of a finger. Just one of the design touches that made the Silencer worth a price tag that could have been the down payment on a decent-sized house.

Well, in that case. If she had to take the client Poe didn’t want and work past closing, at least she could have some fun.

“Rest your feet on the pedals and hold the wheel,” she told him as he climbed into the front seat, ducking beneath the doorframe. It was tight, but he fit. “Don’t push, just get in position.”

He held still as Rey angled her torso into the cockpit, her blouse nearly skimming the lapel of his wool coat. Out of the corner of her eye, his gaze tracked her hand between his legs. But he didn’t flinch when she skirted his thigh at the last second, grabbed the lever underneath the seat, and released it, shifting him back so his knees wouldn’t hit the steering wheel.

Instead he asked, sharply, “The controls in this aren’t electric?”

“Not unless you want an automatic,” she said brightly, still leaning over him, not really concerned he might turn those dark eyes down her shirt. “Do you?”

“In _this_ car?” Like he was disgusted Forsche even _made_ it with an automatic.

She didn’t disagree. “That’s what I thought. It would be a waste.”

* 

The car’s two seats were close enough—and the client’s hands were big enough—that if she didn’t angle herself toward the passenger-side door, he’d brush her thigh every time he changed gears. 

Not that she would have minded. He put his hand on the back of her seat to reverse out of the parking space, and even that made her need to squeeze her legs together for an instant. Over the loudly neutral new-car smell, coffee and cedar wafted off his skin to her.

She studied him closer than any of the Tinder profiles she’d just seen while he concentrated on launching the car out of the on-ramp and onto the highway. How the angles of his face sloped away from the ridge of his nose. How he bit his lower lip subconsciously while checking the mirrors. How the end-of-day sun caught on a single strand of silver in his dark hair.

She was so busy wondering what the tip of his nose would feel like under her lips—or pressed to the inside of her thigh, she wasn’t particular—that she forgot to watch the road. There was a stoplight at the end of the highway exit ramp on her usual test-drive loop. But by the time she turned and saw it was red, it was too late to warn him to slow down. She gasped and twitched her foot, instinctively pressing an imaginary pedal.

He braked hard and edged the tires right up to the stop line. On purpose.

“I apologize,” he said. “I should have asked first.” He must have seen her knee-jerk reaction.

“That’s fine.” She didn’t want to admit she’d been distracted by his face. Or that seeing how he pushed the car was even more intriguing than how he looked. “The test drive is for testing. You didn’t lose control or anything. That’s happened with clients a couple times.”

“And you didn’t like it?”

“Like what? Making them buy a car they dented?”

“Losing control.” He signaled and swept into the dealership lot, putting a hand up again to back into the parking spot.

The hairs on her neck stood up, even though his arm was inches away and there was a headrest between his skin and hers. The dashboard told her the heated seats weren’t even on, and she still felt sweat prickling where her bra band crossed her spine. Was he actually interested, or just being kind of an asshole, asking questions he knew sounded inappropriate?

Not that it mattered. She would sell him this car and then she could go home and reopen Tinder. Drinking hot cocoa with Armitage, 30, would be better than being alone on Christmas, even if he refused to use his mouth for more than sipping. Even if this man’s lips looked like they were _made_ for more than sipping.

Rey picked a speck of fluff off the floor mat to hide the flush creeping across her cheeks. “It depends,” she said.

*

The client kept checking the time—on a watch she nearly could have worn as a choker, not on his phone—and tapping his foot when they sat down in her office to bargain. Or rather, to negotiate or reach an agreement, as she was supposed to phrase it, according to the decks Amilyn presented at the Tuesday morning sales meeting.

“Can I offer you a coffee while we review the paperwork?”

The tapping picked up, going past rude to obnoxious. “Normally I don’t like to rush, but can we skip the bullshit? I have a conference call in half an hour and this needs to be done by then.”

Fine with her, even if she thought building relationships was anything but bullshit. The quicker she made this deal, the quicker she could go home. As long as he didn’t think she was going to knock a chunk off the price just so he could make his call.

“Let me print off the pricing sheet, and you can let me know what questions you have for me,” she suggested.

Lots of people played coy or started fidgeting at this point, uncomfortable talking about money, but Rey relished the back and forth. The clients always ended up getting a car they liked; she ended up getting paid. Besides, this was low stakes compared with the wheeling and dealing she’d done on the primary-school playground, when she’d snuck toys out of the lost and found, fixed them up, and traded her way to the Lego sets her own family couldn’t afford.

“Look, I’m willing to pay what you’re asking,” he said. “I can give you a deposit today, a full credit report, my insurance details, a clean bill of health, the deed to my house. Whatever you need.”

So he wanted to get right down to business. Probably because he had the assets to back up whatever deal they worked out, if that watch was any clue. Her mouth twitched involuntarily. A half-hour with this man, and she’d meet her monthly sales target and trounce Poe in the department rankings. He was going to rue the day he’d let her have this client.

“Then I can do the paperwork in twenty minutes. That leaves you ten for a coffee before your call,” she said, trying to keep the glee from creeping into her voice. She was supposed to be welcoming clients to the exclusive Forsche lifestyle, not calculating her commission in her head like someone who actually needed the money. “Just your name on the title?”

“That’s very helpful.” Relieved, he leaned back in his chair and crossed the tapping foot on the opposite knee. “And yes, just mine. I have one condition, though. I need the car on Christmas so I can drive it that afternoon.”

“We can do that.” She made a note on the computer.

“And the bow?”

“What bow?” She typed in the name from his license, not looking up. Of course he said he was in a rush but had to pester her with a hundred questions and demands before he forked over the deposit and signed the papers.

“Your _ads_ ,” he said, displeased, like she was the one holding things up, “show a big red bow on the car. How much?”

“It’s—” She checked the system. “Six hundred dollars. A thousand if you want to keep the bow.”

“I’ll take it,” he said. “I’ll take everything you’ve got.”

“Pardon?” Something in his voice made her look up, but he hadn’t moved. He was still leaning back in his chair, hands folded over the point of his tie, at ease now that he was going to get his car and make his conference call. It was only a little rasp in his tone that suggested he hadn’t quite gotten everything he wanted.

“Everything that says—” he waved a hand lazily— “Christmas.”

“The bow is pretty much it. I can ask our delivery guy to wear a Santa hat, but no guarantees.”

He sat up, suddenly tall enough to rest his elbows on her desk. “You won’t be delivering the car?”

She met his eyes. The same urgency they’d held as he stood at reception, flattening the bell into the desk, flared once more, but this time it was for her. He _was_ interested. 

“I don’t usually do that sort of thing,” Rey said.

“What a shame.”

*

_What a shame_. It played in her head as she sent a request to their delivery guy and drove home to swipe some more. It played in her head as she sat in the break room on Christmas Eve, half-listening to Poe rattle on about his date’s Yankee swap triumph.

It wasn’t just how the client had said it, deep-pitched and serious, undercutting the whine of the store’s heating vents. It wasn’t only the click of his tongue on “what” and the press of his lips on “shame,” turning the end of the word into a disapproving hum. It was the disappointment in his eyes, like he was personally let down by her refusal. Like she was a fool for not doing what he wanted, and he pitied her.

His disappointment with her was a little piece of grit, a grain of sand that slipped into her imagination, and she couldn’t help but layer fantasies on it. _What a shame you made such a mess of these little lace panties. I’m going to have to take them off and clean you up_ , and then he’d brush her thighs with his nose. _What a shame you can’t be quiet. I know how we can fix that_ , and then he’d slide his cock—big enough to shut her up, judging by the rest of him—over her tongue. _What a shame you’re such a slut and need to come again. I think I’ll have to fuck you harder this time_ , and then he’d hammer away until it was so good she cried. Layer upon layer, she built them up until they hardened into a little pearl of resolve.

She’d show him that this time, she _would_ do that sort of thing. She didn’t need a stranger from the internet. She’d go to the client’s house on Christmas with his car and her self and blow his mind. She could and she would.

*

Still. _What a shame_. It echoed in her head when she slid into the driver’s seat on Christmas morning and goosebumps pimpled her ass. The finger-long plastic skirt she’d fashioned from the bow did nothing to keep out the cold seeping off the leather.

This was what her life had come to. She’d told the delivery guy to take the day off, that she could handle the Silencer since it was her client. She’d unearthed one of the big red velvet bows from beneath a box of crystal paperweights in the dealership closet—Way to Go, Maz! Salesperson of the Month, December ’02; Winning Together! Team Silver Client Satisfaction Award, July ’05—and wrapped it around herself in a sort of mini-dress held together by a single knot. 

She’d stopped swiping and convinced herself that the better plan was to try to spend Christmas with a client she only knew well enough to describe as a hot, watch-but-not-wedding-ring-wearing asshole. She’d scrubbed and scraped and lotioned so her skin would be as soft as the velvet side of the ribbon. She’d become that desperate.

Or that ballsy.

Rey stabbed at the button for the heated seat, shoved the loops of the bow out of her eye line, and set off in the Silencer, prowling through holiday-quiet, snow-dusted streets. As the car warmed up, she caught the faintest whiff of her own nervous sweat—or maybe it was the slightest tang of the wetness that had already trickled into the thong she’d worn under the bow. (Because, really, what other underwear was suitable for an occasion where you packaged yourself up like a holiday treat.)

She glided up to the address from the client’s file. Either she was right, the interest was mutual, and she’d spend the day being unwrapped, or she was wrong, he’d only mentioned the clean bill of health to be ornery, and she’d have a Christmas so embarrassing she’d have to change her Playa del Carmen plane ticket to a one-way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's okay, the Forsche is with her on this important mission (and if you've read the tags [which, please do], you know exactly how this is going to go)
> 
> find me on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/canox_writes) (an app I can barely use) to tell me that no one uses Tinder anymore (an app I have never used)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just pretend he really did show her that clean bill of health at some point, she showed him hers, and everything is fine in that department.

No sooner had Rey pulled out her phone to call the client than an older man and woman poked their heads out of the front door. She hadn’t accounted _at all_ for the possibility that he wouldn’t be alone. It seemed unfair that he would have someone to spend the holiday with and she, a non-asshole with five stars on DealerRater for friendliness, would not.

“Sweetie,” the woman called. “Someone just pulled into your driveway. Are you expecting company?” Surely these were his parents. Who else would dare to call him that?

“This looks brand new.” The man was coming down the front walk, eyeing the car like it was the only thing on his Christmas list.

“Well, where’s the bow on top? I thought they were supposed to wrap them up like in the commercials.”

“What do you need a bow for when you’ve got almost three hundred horsepower? Or lines like these? Look at how that crease just flows into the hood.” The man came over to admire the side of the car and started when he saw Rey through the tinted windows. 

Could she pretend she hadn’t seen him? No. They’d made eye contact. She smiled weakly and waved. There was no way she could climb up and out of the roadster without flashing this couple, and no way she could stand around chatting to them with her ass covered by a strip of velvet-faced plastic thinner than rolled-out cookie dough. 

This had the potential to be far more agonizing than any of the scenarios she’d imagined. The worst that happened in her head was that her client rejected her and she went home to her incognito browser tabs and Tinder, whichever made her come first.

“Hey, Ben?” the older man called over his shoulder. “You better pause that and come out. Make sure this is the car you ordered.”

“Is there something wrong with it? Did it get scratched?” The woman marched over and bent down to inspect the front bumper. 

The client—Ben—came outside, way more casual in his jeans and henley than in his navy suit, but his face was still creased with annoyance, like whatever had been bothering him at the dealership continued to plague him.

His expression softened when he strode up to the car, peered through the window, and saw Rey in the driver’s seat. Or maybe he only saw the bow; it rode up when she sat down, and her face felt crimson enough to match.

“I’d better call the dealership and sort this out,” he said to the older man. “I’ll come over this afternoon. Like we _agreed_.”

“Let us know if we need to set an extra place,” the other man replied.

The woman shot up, hands on hips. “You _are_ expecting someone!”

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’ll see you later.”

Rey waited until the parents were safely bundled into their own car and motoring around the corner to crank down the window.

Ben crouched by the door, resting his chin on his arms. Up close his eyes had relaxed into something like amusement. He must have figured out exactly why she’d come to his house. “Your face is the same color as the bow,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Just your name on the title, you said. I thought you’d be alone,” she said. “Not that your dad would see me wearing nothing but a bow.”

He flicked his eyes down her torso. “ _Are_ you naked underneath?”

“Can I come in?” she asked by way of reply. “It’s freezing out here.”

*

He did let her in, at least. That was a good sign. 

Faint yells and thuds greeted her at the front door. Rey left her heels in the foyer—not the best for driving, but what else went with a red velvet bow?—and followed Ben to the back of the house, where the TV blared an action movie to an empty sofa.

He paused it and turned to her. “You said you don’t usually deliver.”

“You said that was a shame,” she said. “So I made an exception.”

“Didn’t I pay to keep that bow?”

“Why do you think I’m wearing it, not the car?” She crossed the room to stand in front of him. She’d already suffered the embarrassment of his dad seeing her in the bow, so she might as well go for broke. It was time to find out if her day was going to be one for the sex-record books or a full-on cringefest.

“What’s really a shame,” she announced, “is that I showed up in this little plastic ribbon like a present and you’re not unwrapping it yet.”

“Is it?” Ben said. “I also told you I don’t normally like to rush.” He reached toward her shoulder, but landed on a bow loop instead, rubbing the velvet between his fingers as though to assess how easily it would rip off. 

It occurred to her that maybe she should spell out what she wanted, instead of waiting for him to stop teasing and touch her the right way. If she could tell middle managers with a straight face that the sedan they wanted cost seventy-five thousand dollars, eighty with leather seats, she could ask for the _what a shame_ -ing dick of her fantasies.

“I think you just like being a jerk. Teasing me,” she said. “Here I am at your house, on Christmas, clearly desperate. Making a fool of myself. What else do I have to do to get you to have sex with me?”

He removed his hand and smiled slowly, derisively. “Do you want me to be nicer?”

“No. I want you to keep being an asshole. But while you’re inside me.”

*

Rey had never seen _Die Hard_ before, and she certainly wasn’t seeing it now. Not from her perch on Ben’s lap, where she was rocking herself against his thigh, so slick she kept nearly sliding off. 

“I was in the middle of this movie when you interrupted,” he’d told her when he pulled her onto the couch, shifting her weight onto his leg with his hands on her hips. “I’m going to keep watching. But maybe you want to make yourself come if you’re so turned on already.”

She’d hesitated for a moment. Then she’d nodded, resolved to writhe on top of him until he couldn’t resist any longer.

It was—a little humiliating, but not the kind she’d expected, tainted with the sting of rejection. It was the kind that shot through her fantasies, with disapproval rippling through his eyes and his voice, the heat of her shame mingling with that of her desire until she couldn’t tell which was which.

Never mind that she probably looked ridiculous with the bow hiked up and bobbing around while she humped his leg, or that she was going to come embarrassingly fast from grinding on a man she’d spent half an hour with because he was hot and disappointed with her. All sex looked silly if you thought about it too hard.

Besides, he wasn’t watching the movie particularly closely, either, given how fast he reacted when she reached around to use her finger. He grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back.

“Didn’t you say you were desperate?” he said, his breaths coming in her ear as fast as her heart was pounding. “I bet you can do it without your hands.”

She rocked faster. In trying to show off for him, she’d brought herself right up to the edge, and she just needed a little more to tip herself over.

“That’s good,” she said, encouraging both of them. “Talk to me.”

“About what? How needy you are? Or how much of a mess you’re making?” She was impressed; he was doing his best to give her what she’d asked for.

“Yes. Just talk.” Without her fingers for leverage, she had to squirm to bring her toes down and almost toppled in her enthusiasm.

“Do you do this with all your clients? Drive up half-naked and rub yourself all over them?” He reached around with the hand not holding her wrists, snaking it under the bow, to steady her waist so she wouldn’t fall.

“Keep going,” she breathed.

“I bet you do. I bet you can’t help yourself.” He put his lips right up to her ear. “Just like you can’t help yourself right now. You’d come on my coffee table if I told you to. I knew you liked losing control. I know you’re a—”

“Say it. Please.” She was so close.

The hand on her waist tightened, forcing her to rock even harder, really work for it. “No. You need to tell me what you are.”

It slipped into her fantasies so lightly and weighed so heavily on her tongue. But the hookup she wanted was on the other side of it. “Such a little slut,” she said, keeping her face hidden in the bow.

“That’s right,” he said, both disapproving, like he was ashamed she was so debased, and pleased, like he was happy she’d at least admitted to it. “Now hurry up and come so I can watch the movie.”

_God_. She couldn’t even finish fast enough for him. The heat sparked up and consumed her.

*

After she came, moaning loud enough to drown out the film for a minute, he took off his jeans—”the leg is soaked,” he’d said, shaking his head—and his underwear—“and so are these,” even though they looked dry to her—and then explained that he’d get cold sitting there and could she please warm him up?

Still dazed from coming on him, still hardly believing that showing up to his house in the bow had actually worked, Rey looked around for a blanket before she realized he wanted her to sit on his cock. 

“Oh, you mean with my—” she said, swinging a leg over him. “God, yes.”

He clicked his tongue and spun her around. “Silly girl. Face the TV,” he instructed, “or else this ridiculous bow you’re wearing will get in the way.”

It actually _was_ a shame she wouldn’t get to look at him yet. But it made it that much more intense when she lowered herself onto him, one of his hands guiding her hips and the other tugging her thong out of the way. She hadn’t even touched him and he was so hard beneath her; hadn’t caught a glimpse of his erection and could only guess when he would bottom out.

When he finally did, she rolled her hips and let herself savor the successful completion of Operation Cock for Christmas. She’d get into a rhythm like this on top of him, they’d both come, and there would still be plenty of time for him to fuck her again before he had to go to his parents’ for the afternoon.

Ben put a stop to that plan right away. “Fuck. Such a nice, tight hole for me to fill,” he said, digging his fingers into the fleshy top of her thighs. “But you need to stop moving. Do you know why?”

“Because sluts have to hold still?” she guessed.

“That’s right. You made a mess on my pants because you couldn’t control yourself.”

“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “I wanted to come.”

A deep breath. He twitched inside her. “And you got to come, and now you’re getting me. But no squirming. Because you asked me to be an asshole.”

“I know. It’s good.” She closed her eyes and tried to relax.

It wasn’t good. It was exquisitely torturous to sit there with her cunt full and her clit throbbing, thinking about the disdain in his voice when he told her she was making a mess, the waver in her own when she called herself a slut. About how much she needed to move. It had been embarrassing to straddle his leg, to let him see her need in her frantic rubbing, but at least she’d gotten the relief of coming that way.

In her fantasies she’d been able to fast-forward from one thrill to the next, with only an instant between him whispering about how hard he’d pound her needy little cunt and imaginary-him slamming into her. 

In reality, she was thrumming for what came next, except that it didn’t come and didn’t come and _didn’t come_. Her nipples poked at the bow, waiting for a tongue that wasn’t coming. Her heartbeat pulsed in her center, ready for a climax that wasn’t happening. She was marooned on top of his cock, legs spread wide around his, hands clinging to his, miles from her clit. If she moved she’d only shame herself more, show how weak and wanting she really was.

The only thing she could move without him seeing, without him stopping her, was—

“Fuck,” Ben said behind her.

The gunshots from the TV stopped mid-magazine. Rey opened her eyes.

“The movie’s not over,” she protested. “I’m holding still.” Except for that one tiny clench around him.

Ben groaned. “I can’t,” he said. “I need to take you upstairs now.”

“You’re already inside me,” she pointed out. “You can keep watching. Ignore me while you make me fuck myself.”

He lifted her off his lap and smiled derisively. “Like you could fuck yourself the way you need to be fucked.”

“But—”

His smile changed to a real one. “Rey, I can’t even see the TV around the bow. It has to come off.”

*

Upstairs he pulled the rest of his clothes off, then the bow, then her thong, and made her lie back on his bed while he raked his eyes over the front of her body. This time, there wasn’t any disappointment in his gaze while he inspected the freckles on her chest and the peaks of her nipples and the wetness smudging the insides of her thighs, but the intent that was there made her breathe faster all the same.

When she reached for him, he laughed, low, and held her hands over her head.

“Come on, Ben,” she pleaded. “Let me touch you, too.”

“You little—” He met her eyes. “Whore?”

“Slut. When I thought about this, you called me a slut.”

He snorted. “Of course you thought about this, you little slut. You said you wanted to be unwrapped.” He flipped her over. “I’m appreciating my gift. It’s such a nice one. So soft.” His hands trailed down her spine and patted her ass, parting her cheeks to examine that, too. “Even your little asshole is pretty.”

Her hips dipped into the bed, seeking friction, and he noticed. “You still can’t help yourself, can you? Always wanting more.”

She twisted to glare at him. “What I want is for you to stop looking and start fucking me.”

He turned her over again and palmed himself. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

“Yes.”

“God, a filthy mouth and no manners.” He nudged her legs apart with his hips. Without the yards of ribbon between them, he could lean over her, pressing skin on skin. He guided his cock through her folds and let it drag across her clit. 

“You want me to say please?” Her voice was nearly a whine now.

Ben finally pushed into her. Or slid; she hadn’t stopped being slick since she’d climbed into the car that morning. “It’s okay. You’ll say thank you after I’m done.”

His thrusts were easy at first, so he could talk to her.

“I should leave you here. Tie you up with that bow,” he said, gathering her wrists up again with one hand and pinning them above her head. With the other he thumbed her clit. “Maybe I’ll tie your hands so you can’t even touch yourself. Leave a pillow between your legs. When I get home later, you’ll be here waiting. Still desperate to take me anytime I want.”

She’d be writhing for it. “That’s good. Tell me more.”

He sped up a little.

“Gonna write this up in my review,” he continued. “Exceptional service. A five-star cunt. She’ll come to your house and beg you to fuck her if you spend enough money on a car. I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Everyone knowing what a slut you are.”

A thrill of shame pulsed in her clit. “Yes. Don’t stop.”

He sped up even more. She braced her legs on the edge of the bed to keep from sliding backwards.

“I should have taken _you_ on a test drive. Parked in some secluded lot and stuck my cock down your throat. Made you bend over the hood and sent you back to the sales floor dripping in your pants.”

She could imagine it, crotch seam all sticky with his come. “I wish you had.”

“Yeah? You do, don’t you?” He went even harder, eyes wild. So worked up that spit flew from his mouth onto her face as he kept talking. “I’m not going to—fuck _me_ , it’s good when you do that—last much longer like this.”

She put her tongue out to swipe his saliva from her cheek. “Spit on me. Come in me.”

He slowed for a second. “Really?”

“I’m being a slut. So use me like one.” It was the most humiliating thing she could think to ask for that didn’t require him to stop fucking her like this. This was what her life had come to: lying in a stranger’s house, brimming with his cock, whimpering at him to spit on her. Waiting on the brink of her second mind-altering orgasm of the day, the way she had imagined.

Rey opened her mouth expectantly. His eyes, inches from hers, went black, and never left her lips as he spat and she swallowed. Her wrists fluttered uselessly under his hand; her chest was caged by his shoulders, a warm and wet little thing beneath him. A little thing that was going to clench hard enough to cause an earthquake when she came.

She tried to tell him that, but between his thrusts and the tectonic forces building under his thumb and the thought of her own mouth open and ready, all that came out was something like his name when light exploded behind her eyes and she arched off the bed.

He didn’t care, anyway; once she cried out, he moaned something wordless and came, too.

*

The metal band clanked as Ben pulled his watch from the bedside table and consulted its moon-sized face. His own features hardened.

“I have to leave soon,” he said, rolling toward her. “Thanks for delivering the car, by the way. It’s a Christmas present for my dad.”

“Hang on.” Rey rubbed her eyes. She might have dozed off after he pulled out. “Did you even need to make sure you fit?”

He bit his lip. “No,” Ben admitted. “He’ll be the one driving it.”

“You don’t sound that excited about giving it to him.”

“I wasn’t that excited about buying it. We don’t have the greatest relationship. But we both like cars.” He sighed. “Except that they ruined the surprise by inviting themselves for brunch this morning.”

Rey stretched. Even if the test drive had technically been a waste of time, that half-hour with Ben had been a good investment. She felt sated. Generous. Holiday-spirited. “What if I came with you to give it to him?”

“That’s not necessary.” He tipped out of bed and pulled a fresh pair of underwear from a drawer.

“As a salesperson. Not his son’s slutty friend.” She sat up. “I could show your dad how to connect his phone and pre-set the radio stations.”

He paused with one foot in the leg hole. “Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Ben’s face relaxed again. “They’ll want to feed you dinner for your trouble.”

It wasn’t as good as staying in the bedroom and waiting for him to come back for another round, but it wasn’t any trouble. 

“Can we stop at my place first?” she asked. “I only wore the bow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Rey casually inserting herself in Ben's bed _and_ holiday plans.
> 
> You can get big red bows for under $50 according to [this random article](https://www.capitalone.com/cars/learn/finding-the-right-car/10-littleknown-facts-about-giant-car-bows/1024), but I'm picturing Rey in one that goes all the way underneath the car, not just on the hood.
> 
> Anyway I'm on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/canox_writes), mostly with links to my fics in an ouroboros of self-promotion.


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